She Gathers Rain
by Mouse
Summary: Tuor and Idril share a melancholy moment in Gondolin.


* Disclaimer: All characters and situations belong to J.R.R. Tolkien *  
  
| Dedicated to Joan Milligan |  
  
  
**||| She Gathers Rain |||**  
  
~||~  
  
_"Today she dresses  
For the change she's facing now  
And the storm that's raging  
A safe haven she has found ..."  
_  
~||~  
  
Like a fine mist the grey sky shed water, each drop an imperfect sliver of silver. On the fountain of the King of Gondolin the rain danced, a slow, glass waltz beneath the white figure of a swan. The graceful neck of the stone bird was bowed, polished beak spilling a light, writhing stream of water.  
  
Idril Celebrindal sat alone on the ledge of the marble bowl of the fountain, her legs stretched beyond the hem of her filmy gown, pale feet arching and breaking the fountain stream as though she sought to bend a rainbow, though there was no light. The rainfall flattened her fair hair to lay in damp strands against her neck and bare shoulders, but she seemed to take no notice, fingers playing lightly over the smooth pearl-riddled marble.  
  
Tuor walked in the Square of the King, but he was silent and his eyes turned to the white pavement, his steps long and slow in thought. When he looked up and saw Idril, the thought was broken and his blank mask cracked, his face softening to an expression far from smile-- a smile was too garish for unspoken pleasure so deep within, so soft and subtle perhaps he did not recognize it himself.  
  
Though he spoke no word as he approached, Idril knew his presence and did not turn, a slight shiver taking her body as the chill of the rain began to penetrate. There was the sound of a quiet breath and then Tuor's reflection wavered beside hers on the rippling surface of the fountain water, his eyes dark and still upon her face.  
  
Do you come to speak hope to me, Master Tuor? she said quietly, and her feet braced against the stone of the swan figure.  
  
I do not come to speak, lady, he answered, and he leaned against the fountain bowl, folding his arms atop the ledge. Only to listen. His gaze passed up the fountain and to the sheets of cloud overhead, blinking rain from his eyes.  
  
A smile ghosted Idril's lips as she watched him. Do you hear words in the water? she asked, her head tilting so that her ear pointed toward the sky.  
  
No words, he returned, and his eyes were warm to her. Though at times I think I hear the voice of the Sea calling.  
  
Idril turned her eyes from him, shivering briefly again. Her voice is heard to those who listen for it-- but for some, it is a weak voice indeed above the song of the rock.  
  
Tuor traced a glistening trail down her cheek with his eyes, wishing to touch, to taste, and know if it was rain or tear. What does She speak of to you?  
  
Idril's head fell back, the damp ends of her hair dangling above the ground as her eyes flitted faraway, her lips parting in a sigh. she said softly. The Sea would take me home, to Eldamar-- for She touches it even now, as I would give up every fountain, pillar, and jewel of Gondolin to do. She was silent for a heartbeat, then her eyes returned, and he ached to see it for she returned to little joy. And to you, Tuor, she spoke again. What is the Sea to you?  
  
was all he said.  
  
she echoed, her pale grey eyes falling to the water. There is little hope of that here. Why do you stay? If you abide long in this city upon stone you will become dust.  
  
And what of you, Celebrindal? He pushed back his hair, the gold muted by the rain.   
  
I fade. Unblinking, she stared into the fountain. I am already dust.  
  
he whispered, and he touched her cheek, just once. Her eyes met his, entering cautiously into the deep, open blue. he said again. For with water dust will become soil and nourish life again.  
  
Her eyes lowered, her chip dropping to press her mouth briefly against her shoulder. You said you would not speak hope to me, Master Tuor.  
  
I speak truth. His brow lifted. You see truth, Celebrindal.  
  
I see many things, Tuor, she replied, her voice quiet and distant. Beginnings, and ends. I see fire and shadow. I see walls.  
  
Her eyes raised to him again, and they were bright with tears. But I did not see this.  
  
And tilting forward, she pressed her lips to his, breathing sweet, warm breath into his mouth. Eyes boldly searching his, she kissed him, guiding her lips in slow strokes, and her shivering ceased.  
  
His hand found hers and their fingers wove together in an effortless, faultless pattern. Idril drew back at last, her breath deep through moist lips, her eyes still veiled with unshed tears. Raising a hand to her face, Tuor gently passed his fingers over her eyes, closing them, and kissed each tear that fell.  
  
With her encased in the firm warmth of his arms, they stood silent and listened to the rain.  
  
~||~  
  
_"She's not branded  
When prophets speak words of fire  
The same love she gives  
She requires  
  
So she gathers rain ..."  
_  
[lyrics by Collective Soul]_  
  
~||~_  
  
  
  



End file.
